“No, that’s all I have,” replied the lead flight attendant.
“OK, come back up front when you have a minute. I’ll need the vitals on the woman in first class. I’ll be talking with a doctor in a few minutes.”
The conversation with dispatch and corporate security went on for another ten minutes. They tentatively decided to divert the flight to Chitose. Since the island of Hokkaido, Japan was still a few hours off the nose, they had plenty of time to alter their plans if needed.
Corporate security was concerned with John Tacker’s state of mind. His file indicated that he’d been fired from Pan Am for gross incompetence, but there was no mention of him having a problem with violence. With the exception of having a reputation as a hard-ass, up until he punched Bill in the mouth, John Tacker had been a non-noteworthy FAA employee.
As he concluded with security and before switching over to the Mayo clinic, Bill received a call from Penny on the interphone.
“Yeah go ahead, Penny, this is Bill.”
“Bill, there’s three of us up here and we all tried, but this woman on the upper deck does not have a pulse. I think she’s dead,” whispered Penny.
Everyone on the ground in Minneapolis who could hear what was going on, as well as Mark and Bill, went silent. No one knew exactly what to say. Bill could sense remorse building from deep within.
“Uh, did you guys perform CPR?” asked Bill, trying to fight the cracking in his voice.
“Yeah,” said Penny, struggling to hold back her emotions. “When I got back up here, I noticed Stella and Jane-Anne had her on the floor. We’ve each been taking turns for the past ten minutes. I’m not a doctor, but, well, I think…”
“I can’t believe that out of four hundred passengers on board this airplane we can’t find a doctor.”
“We made three announcements, Bill. But nowadays, I think people prefer to avoid getting involved,” said Penny. “I suppose they’re afraid of getting slapped with a lawsuit.”
“What about her husband?”
“He’s completely despondent. He sobs one minute and then sits and stares straight ahead the next,” observed Penny.
The doctor at the Mayo Clinic talked Penny through injecting Mrs. Tacker with some epinephrine that they carried onboard for just such an occasion. He then advised the crew that if they could not get a pulse after another twenty minutes, they may discontinue CPR. He then offered to stay on the phone with them for a while longer in the event he was needed.
Twenty minutes came and went. When they were all reasonably sure that nothing more could be done, Bill signed off with the Mayo Clinic doctor and the flight dispatcher. Then, after conferring with his crew, Bill directed Penny to cover Mrs. Tacker with a blanket. He also instructed her to do her best to console Mr. Tacker, knowing that he was a ticking time-bomb.
“Has anyone checked on Steve and Doug lately?” asked Bill.
“Yes,” said Penny, “one of the Japanese interpreters, Maki, has been keeping an eye on them. She told me a couple of minutes ago that both pilots were still pretty sick but had regained consciousness.”
Bill decided to buy some time by announcing that they were diverting to Chitose. He was hoping the news might help to keep John Tacker calm. But he wasn’t sure he actually wanted to land there since there was nothing more that could be done for John’s wife.
The medical facilities in Tokyo, Bill knew, were far more advanced than those in Chitose. He also knew that if he were lying in a bunk feeling miserable, he would want the pilots to press on in hopes of getting the best care possible.
The captain batted the possibilities around in his mind for a few more seconds before deciding to continue on to Tokyo, Narita. It seemed like the safest thing to do. With emotions running high, he feared things could explode. Captain Pratt knew it was better to land at an airport where everyone was comfortable, rather than a place that none of them had been to in a while. It was all about limiting risk.
“Penny, I’m going to make an announcement about diverting to Chitose for medical reasons,” he said. Then, in about an hour or so, we’re going to disable the inflight entertainment system to block out the moving map display. Corporate security isn’t completely certain it was the food. They think there’s a possibility someone onboard might act once we start down, so they suggested that we keep the passengers in the dark as to our location. When we get on the ground, you can announce that we were directed to land at Narita instead. I don’t believe we need to be any more specific than that. I think the passengers will be happy if they end up where they’d planned on going in the first place.”
Penny acknowledged the plan.
“Keep me updated on the pilots, the two flight attendants and Mr. Tacker,” said Bill.
“Will do, Bill,” replied Penny.
The moment the anxious captain clicked the interphone off, he took a few minutes to gaze out his side window. Bill recalled the many hours he and John Tacker spent together building model airplanes. He grinned faintly when he remembered the time they’d spent the entire afternoon cooped up in John’s bedroom pretending to be design engineers. They laughed and joked about how to make an airplane fly faster and further. Late in the day, John’s mom came in and let the two of them have it for allowing the smell of the glue to asphyxiate their brains. She flung open the window, crowing about brain damage and how the glue would make them both stupid. While being scolded, the two boys laughed louder and louder. The memory brought a broad smile to Bill’s face.
He then recalled the summer they’d each built a balsa glider of their own design. Bill distinctly remembered the pain in John’s face when time after time his glider stayed airborne longer than John’s. He actually feared John might break down in tears. It was then and there that Bill decided to always let his buddy take the lead. Being the best seemed to make John happy. That day, Bill punched a small hole in the wing of his glider and suffered through John’s gloating when time after time John’s glider outperformed his.
Captain Pratt’s smile turned into an odd smirk as he studied the inhospitable land beneath his B747. His eyes followed one of the deep blue waterways leading to the Pacific Ocean that was in clear view off to his left. He felt very far from home. He missed his wife, especially knowing that it would be a few days before he’d get to hear her voice again. He glanced at his watch, aware that she’d already been asleep for hours. The graying aviator contemplated the various shades of blue in the sky and the handful of jet contrails ahead. It all made him wonder if the burdens of command were worth it.
Bringing himself back inside, Bill Pratt sat silently reviewing in his mind what lay ahead. The possibilities seemed endless, and he sincerely hoped that he was up to the task.
Thirty One
“This is Bill.”
“Yeah, Bill, it’s Penny. I just wanted to let you know that Mr. Tacker had been sitting calmly, but a few seconds ago he jumped up and started pounding on the right side upper deck emergency exit door with both fists. He’s screaming like a madman!”
“What’s he saying?” asked Bill.
“Um, well, I think he believes he’s talking to you directly. I mean, like, he’s talking to you then talking to himself. It’s weird. I’m concerned that he might open the upper deck door,” said Penny, with a hint of fear in her voice. “He’s been pulling on the handle.”
“Penny, there is no way he can open that door in flight. It’s impossible,” said Bill. “Do you think he might harm himself or someone else?”
“He said he wants to kill you. He keeps saying that he’ll make you pay. A minute ago he said he would make all the Pratts pay--that they ruined his life.”
“Penny, I put the handcuffs on him myself! What happened?” asked Bill, struggling to hold back his anger.
“He asked if he could go to the bathroom,” she said, “so I removed the handcuffs and had one of the male passengers escort him to the lav and back. After he sat back down, it looked like he’d fallen asleep so I didn’t w
ant to bother him. Then I guess I got sidetracked with the immigration forms and forgot about it.”
The captain boiled inside. He wanted to give his purser an earful about not following company procedures. He couldn’t believe that she’d let her guard down. He gave himself a few moments, allowing his rage to dissipate before saying, “Get another female flight attendant to help you and then try and get him to calm down. Don’t ask any men to help unless it gets out of hand.”
“OK, captain,” replied Penny. “Do you want us to get another set of handcuffs?”
“Penny, I’ll let you be the judge of that. But please do not allow yourself to get distracted again,” said Bill. “Stay alert.”
“All right, Bill. I’m sorry.”
“It’s water over the dam at this point. But please get back to me if this thing escalates any further.”
Once sure the interphone line was clear, Bill said, “Ya know, Mark, that guy back there is going to be the death of me yet. And to think that at one time, many years ago, I wanted to be just like him.”
“You know him?!” asked Mark, clearly surprised.
“Oh yes, we go way back,” said Bill, with a face that reflected both reminiscence and sorrow simultaneously. “Hell, we’re neighbors.”
“Wow!” exclaimed Mark.
The copilot shook his head, contemplating the odd situation. Then, sensing his captain’s memories were painful to recall, he quickly changed the subject. “Uh, anyway,” Mark added, “With all that’s been happening around here, I haven’t had time to crosscheck the fuel burn at each of the checkpoints in our flight plan. But we just passed the Lekbi intersection and we’re way over on our burn. The way it looks right now, we’re going to land with less than twenty thousand pounds of fuel.”
“That’s impossible!” stated Bill incredulously. “Twenty thousand pounds is barely an hour’s flying time. Are you sure about that?”
“Take a look for yourself,” said Mark, as he handed his captain the flight plan.
Bill studied the fuel system schematic that was in view on the lower systems display screen and crosschecked what he saw with the flight plan. They were indeed getting low on fuel. He shook his head slightly, wondering how that could happen.
“Maybe we have a leak,” suggested Mark.
“Yeah, maybe, but I kind of doubt it. Let’s check it again over the next waypoint to verify this. I’ll check the weather in Narita. I don’t want to divert if we don’t have to.”
“Me either!” said Mark, with a bit more emphasis than seemed necessary.
With each passing mile both pilots silently kept their eyes on the navigation display. Noting the various alternate airports depicted on their screens, they both continuously crosschecked the fuel burns while doing the math in their heads. It may have been slow to develop, but as each gallon of fuel got sucked into the engines the tension in the cockpit grew.
A few miles north of the Japanese island of Hokkaido, the Russian air traffic controllers handed Northwest Orient flight twenty-one off to Tokyo Control. After checking in, it took both pilots a few seconds for their ears to adjust to the different accent of the new controller. Making it even more difficult was the fact that all the Russian controllers they’d spoken with during the flight were men with booming voices. The young female Japanese controller working Northwest Orient flight twenty-one had a meek, yet, I-may-be-small-but-you’d-better-listen attitude when she issued instructions. She had a very strong accent so the pilots had to strain mentally whenever she spoke.
“Bill, our fuel over the Akola intersection was way off. I definitely think we have a leak,” said Mark. “As of now, we’re going to land in Narita with less than an hour of fuel remaining.”
“Did you compare the scheduled burn for this segment with what we actually burned?” asked Bill.
“Of course. It’s not like we just lost some fuel somewhere along the way, while everything else stayed the same. We lost more on this last segment than we burned. The fuel is going someplace other than into our engines.”
“Let’s confirm it again over the next fix,” said Bill. “Sometimes when the computer is transferring fuel around, it looks like we have less gas than we actually do. Besides, the Narita weather is fine so we shouldn’t have any problems getting in there.”
“We can confirm it all the way to touchdown, Bill, but it’s not going to change a thing. Not only that,” Mark added, “but there’s nothing left for the computer to transfer. It is what it is.”
Bill nodded but didn’t reply.
“How’s the weather in Chitose?” asked Mark.
“One of the runways is closed and the winds for the other runway exceed our crosswind limits. So that place is out.”
“Bill, I know I’m new to this international stuff, but Narita only has one runway. If somebody blows a tire or something, we are going to be falling all over ourselves trying to find somewhere else to go. I think we should land for fuel,” said Mark.
“Where would you have us go?”
“How about Sendai?”
“Sendai and Narita aren’t very far apart, so I don’t think it would make that much difference. Besides, Sendai doesn’t get many 747s. If we landed there, I’m not one hundred percent certain they could handle us.”
“I’d prefer to fumble around on the ground while they try to figure out what to do with us,” Mark said sharply, “rather than run out of gas in the air.”
The captain knew his copilot was right, but his mind seemed locked, indeed fixated, on landing in Tokyo. If they’d figured this out earlier they could have planned for it, but as it stood, there were only a couple of viable options left. Bill was reluctant to land anywhere other than their destination because he knew it would likely create a host of other problems. He was about to call Penny and ask her to look out over the wings to see if she could detect any fuel spewing out, when her voice unexpectedly sounded in his earpiece.
“Captain, can you hear me?”
“Yes, go ahead. What is it?”
“Mr. Tacker was fine for a while, but he’s just gone off the deep end. He jumped up and then took a swing at one of the men who was trying to drag him away from the door. They got into a fist fight and then two other men joined in. Mr. Tacker is acting so crazy, I think he might beat them all up!”
“This is insane!” barked the captain. The pressure was mounting and there was little he could do. Landing in Chitose was out. Both Sendai and Haneda, the downtown Tokyo airport, were less than optimal choices. The skirmish on the upper deck seemed miniscule compared to the other problems he faced.
“Penny, get every able-bodied male on this airplane if you have to, but see to it that Mr. Tacker is taken off this airplane in a wheelchair! I seriously doubt my making an announcement will help, so you’re going to have to deal with it. Besides, we have some other issues we’re trying to sort through right now. I’m sorry I can’t help you any more than that.”
“OK,” she replied tersely.
After the brief exchange, both pilots resumed their intense study of the fuel system display.
Mark was convinced that trying to make Narita was tantamount to a fool’s errand. Though reluctant to do so, he stood ready to overrule his narrowly focused captain. He sat mulling over in his mind just how to accomplish that. Though he’d been around a while, he was new to the Whale. He’d heard that some of the B747 captains had egos the size of a house, but had yet to encounter one. Mark wondered if Bill was one of those completely self-absorbed types. He hoped not, but remained concerned about how his captain would react to any further questioning of his decisions.
Meanwhile, Bill’s paranoid-pilot-side struggled to take control of his mind. After considering practically every conceivable possibility, he finally asked, “OK, Mark, what did you do?”
“Excuse me?” asked Mark.
“What did you do to the fuel system? Did you pull one of the circuit breakers while you were up here by yourself? I can’t figure it out, but I know
you’re involved somehow,” said Bill.
“I think you’re as nuts as the guy in the back! Why in the world would you think that I’d do something to the fuel system? Do I look like a saboteur?”
“Spare me. You’re not feeling sick, are you?” asked the captain. “I’m more than just a little suspicious that you feel perfectly fine while the other pilots are barely conscious. I’d be passed out too if I’d eaten my meal. And now, completely out of the blue, just as we’re about to start our descent, the airplane has miraculously run out of gas. I’ve been flying this route for years and I’ve never had all these weird things happen at once. So, yes, naturally I suspect you.”
“I was warned about you Whale captains. Lots of people cautioned me about your huge heads and deteriorating minds,” said Mark with disgust. “I didn’t want to believe them, but I have to admit, you sure do seem to fit the profile. According to my math we have one crew meal left. Would you like me to eat it?” he asked, with no intention of actually doing so.
“We’re dumping fuel, you idiot! You don’t think I know that?” Bill scoffed. “We don’t have a leak. I’m guessing that you came up with the idea a few hours ago, hoping I’d go back and look at the wings so you could take the airplane. Too bad I figured it out.”
“You’re mad, do you know that? You and that loon in the back must be drinking from the same well! I’m new on this airplane. How in the hell would I know how to activate the fuel jettison system without you knowing about it?”
The word “jettison” hit Bill in the face like a ton of bricks. He’d forgotten that he briefly activated the system earlier in the flight while trying to get the tail tank fuel pumps to operate. He instantly realized that it was he who had put the flight in danger. He didn’t have to look at the wings. He knew that one of the jettison valves probably hadn’t seated properly when it closed and thus allowed a very small amount of fuel to be dumped overboard at a continuous rate. Had there not been so many other things happening, the fuel problem would have become evident hours earlier. Bill knew he was wrong about his copilot, but at the same time there was something else going on that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something was not right about Mark, so rather than apologize he decided to remain on guard.
Sojourners of the Sky Page 28
